


climbing up the walls for that flashing light

by bugmadoo



Series: G*llavich Week 2015 [6]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Angst, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, post 5x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 04:36:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4166154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bugmadoo/pseuds/bugmadoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Iggy doesn’t know shit either, Ian isn’t answering my texts or calls, and you’re a fucking vault with more locks than anybody could crack open!” She poked a finger into his chest and looked at him, eyes wide with honesty. “I’m worried about you, asshole.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	climbing up the walls for that flashing light

**Author's Note:**

> Written for G*llavich Week 2015 Day 6: Family Time
> 
> Title and lyrics below taken from Delilah by Florence + the Machine
> 
> I wanted to write something cute and fluffy but then I got sad over Mickey Milkovich again

 

  
_Drifting through the halls with the sunrise_  
_Climbing up the walls for that flashing light_  
_Cause I'm gonna be free and I'm gonna be fine_  
_Cause I'm gonna be free and I'm gonna be fine_  
_Maybe not tonight_

 ---

Everything was blurry when he slowly blinked his eyes open, shapeless colors billowing in his narrow vision. There was a splash of red he swore he’d seen somewhere before, bright yellow and silver lines that wouldn’t really stop moving softly. The color he saw the most though, was white, and for a stupid split second he thought that maybe he had died, and that this was heaven. He almost laughed at himself, because people like him definitely didn’t go to heaven. The only kind of cloud nine he’d ever had and ever would know had ripped himself away from Mickey.

Pain tugged at the edge of his consciousness and Mickey knew that it would fully hit him sooner or later. He knew it like the back of his hands, like the lyrics of his favorite song, like smell of the house he grew up in. He knew it like he simply just  _knew_  the pain of life that always came to get him sooner or later.

Mickey desperately hoped for later rather than sooner. He closed his eyes again.

\---

The first thing he registered was the pounding in his head, constantly hammering against his right temple and spreading through his entire skull.  The second thing was the pulsing in his right arm, hot and prickly – a piercing feeling that travelled all the way down to his fingertips. He opened his eyes, the colors solid now, and he took in the room, the white of the ceiling and the bedsheets, the light yellow of the walls and the grey from a cable hanging on the wall.

“Mick?”

He turned his face, surprised to see that he wasn’t alone and equally surprised that he hadn’t noticed sooner. Mandy was sitting next to his bed in a plastic chair. Her hair was black again, her skin a little less pale than it used to be, and a healthy glow on her cheeks. She looked better than the last time he saw her, and relief hit him harder than he would have expected it to.

“Mandy? The hell are you doing here?” His voice was raspy and his tongue felt heavy.

She smiled and raised her eyebrows. “Take it down a notch it down with your enthusiasm, douchebag.”

Mickey breathed a laugh and tried to sit up more in bed, an action that proved to be quite difficult since he couldn’t really use his right arm. Pangs of sharp pain shot through his nerves every time he tried to use it.

They sat in silence for a while and without any warning, pictures of the previous day flashed in his mind. He remembered the relief he had felt when Ian had told him that he was at the Gallaghers’, and he remembered thinking how Ian must have been cold standing there in only his shirt. He remembered their … conversation and fucking running from Sammi and what happened in between. The pain in his arm and head suddenly faded into the background, and it felt like there was a gash in his chest, expanding by the second, demanding his entire attention and taking over his body. Mickey tried to fight it, wanting nothing more than to somehow distract himself, but that turned out to be a Promethean deed. He’d never really been able to fight  _him_ after all.

“So you wanna tell me why you have a shot wound on your arm and how you hit your head so hard you were asleep until now?” Mandy asked, and Mickey was glad about getting dragged out of his head for a minute.

“Nope.”

“So you just fucking ran against a pole or something and someone accidentally shot you?”

He didn’t answer her and he refused to look away from the patch of wall his eyes had focused on, feeling like he would crack if he did anything else other than stare at the blank wall. Mickey was grateful that she didn’t pry any further, although he hoped it wasn’t because his face gave away any part of the storm inside of him. Silence stretched between them for a while.

“Mands?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

She looked at him in surprise and it reminded him that she didn’t know what had happened in the last few weeks. He turned his head back to the patch of light yellow wall he had been focusing on and closed his eyes.

\---

Mickey checked out of the hospital that same day against the doctor’s adamant insistence that he stay so they could observe him for another night, but he didn’t listen. He’d be damned if he let them keep him in this building any longer because every minute he spent here was a minute he could spend getting drunk or high or whatever the fuck else would make that pain that was clawing at him from all sides disappear. He wanted to forget more than anything.

At last, he was free to go and Mandy was waiting for him outside of the room he had been in.

“Thought Ian’d be big on picking up his boyfriend from the hospital. Where the hell is he?” She sounded impatient, but then her eyes looked at him tentatively, and Mickey knew this was her way of letting him know she’d caught on. The question came earlier than he’d hoped for but later than he’d expected. Of course, Mandy would have presumed that Ian would not to move from Mickey’s side and play nurse all day and night or some shit but a lot had changed since Mandy had left, not that he planned on making her understand that any time soon.

Mickey put on his jacket, the only thing he had with him when they had brought him here, and tried his hardest to ignore Mandy’s eyes on him. His right arm was a little harder than usual to maneuver into the sleeve of his jacket and while the pounding of his head had gotten a little better since he’d woken up, it certainly wasn’t making this any easier. Mandy already moved to help but for fuck’s sake, it was just a graze shot, he’s had worse before. Mickey immediately reached for the pack of cigarettes he knew was in his left pocket, took one out and put it between his lips. He almost lit it right there in the hospital hallway but he saw a nurse standing nearby, sending him an angry glare and he stopped himself by a hair.

He finally looked at Mandy and tried his hardest to keep a blank expression on his face. Mandy smiled like she always did when she talked about Ian and it was like someone stabbing a fucking knife in his heart. For her, nothing would have to be different while everything was for Mickey.

“He’s not here,” he managed to say, his voice raspy and strained and it was all he was willing to admit.

He turned and walked away, not looking if Mandy was following him. He hoped she got the hint.

**\---**

“I don’t think you’re supposed to drink that much with a concussion.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey slurred, his tongue heavy and his brain as fuzzy as raw cotton.

“Come on Mick, get into your bed and sleep it off.”

“Wha’ part of fuck – fuck off d’you not get?”

“What’s up with you, asshat?”

“Fuck! Off!” They were both surprised at how forceful the words came out.

\---

No matter how fucked up he got, he could still feel her eyes on him more often than not and it was starting to get annoying. He thought that he almost understood why Ian had punched him square in the fucking jaw. But on a second thought – he still didn’t really understand. What the fuck ever. It didn’t matter. Not anymore.

On the day of Mickey’s release, he and Mandy had come home to a surprised Iggy, but not much else. Mandy seemed amused as she took in the state of their childhood house and noted how clean everything looked. Mickey remembered the night he spend throwing things out and cleaning shit after Ian had gone to the hospital, trying to do something useful  knowing since he knew he wouldn’t find any kind of sleep anyway. He had been determined to get the house ready for Ian’s return, trying his best not to fail him again, and he almost laughed right there because look how that had backfired.

Mickey had avoided his bedroom so far, claiming the couch in the living room for himself. Unless Ian had come by to collect his stuff during Mickey’s stay at the hospital, there would still be too many remnants of the redhead in that room and Mickey definitely wasn’t up to facing it. He didn’t exactly know how many days had passed since he got released and since he had come back to the Milkovich house, but he guessed it wasn’t more than five days ago. He wasn’t really sure though, days blending together in his head in a messy mix of alcohol, pain, weed, and memories.

\---

He stood up from the couch, more steady on his feet than he’d expected to be, and walked over to the kitchen where Mandy was making dinner. He silently took a glass out of the cupboard and opted for water this time, his throat feeling like dry as sand in the desert at the sight of it, and he drowned it in big gulps. He almost chickened out on doing what he actually came into the kitchen to do and returning to his place on the couch, but he mentally slapped himself and turned towards his sister.

“Mandy?”

She looked at him and cocked up one eyebrow, silently prompting him to continue as she turned back to stirring the soup she was making. Mickey took a breath and rubbed his hand over his face before he opened his mouth.

“Could you … could you get his shit out of my room?” he asked. His eyes avoided her and focused at the pot of soup boiling quietly on the battered, old stove.

Mandy stopped the stirring and turned fully towards him, leaning her hip against the counter. From the corner of his eyes he could see that she was crossing her arms in front of her chest and staring at him. He could only take it for a few seconds before he felt even more uncomfortable than he already was with having to ask his sister to do this. Mickey faced her.

“Are you gonna tell me what happened then?”

Mickey clenched his jaw and his face hardened into an ugly sneer, anger replacing most of the emotions he felt before.

“Forget it,” he replied briskly, the anger at himself and the entire situation was evident in his voice.

He quickly grabbed a beer out of the fridge and intended to return to his seat when Mandy grabbed him by the wrist and stopped him.

“Of course I’ll do it Mickey, but just … talk to me. Iggy doesn’t know shit either, Ian isn’t answering my texts or calls, and you’re a fucking vault with more locks than anybody could crack open!” She poked a finger into his chest and looked at him, eyes wide with honesty. “I’m worried about you, asshole.”

His shoulders slumped in defeat and his gaze dropped to the floor. Mickey rubbed his thumb over his lip, and pondered the idea to answer Mandy’s question. His entire life he didn’t talk about things, that’s just not what he did but in the back of his mind he thought that maybe – maybe this would not be the worst idea he’s ever had. He didn’t know where it came from but it was Mandy and Mandy usually understood.

He opened his mouth but he found that the words wouldn’t come. The dim pain in his chest that he had only been able to numb a little over the last few days flamed up and he just … couldn’t. The feeling somehow reminded him of balancing on top of the fence of their garden as a kid with his brothers, testing who could walk the furthest without falling off. Mickey used to win those little tournaments they did pretty often, but this time the fence seemed endless and he didn’t know if he was going to reach the end of it before falling off. He simply didn’t want to risk losing his balance.

“Just …” he started to say without knowing what he was going to say. ”Thanks” was what he settled for before looking up from the floor and into Mandy’s eyes. Her eyes softened under his gaze and she nodded.

\---

When he woke up on the couch the next morning there was a blue trash bag standing next to the front door that hadn’t been there when he had fallen asleep. He silently thanked Mandy again even though she wasn’t able to hear it.

\---

It was easier and harder in the solitude of his room. Now that he didn’t feel like he was being watched the entire time, he found that he kind of missed the knowledge of Mandy always being there and for a second, Mickey wondered if Ian missed it too. Mickey snorted a moment later because who was he kidding? Ian probably said goodbye to his meds again, manic and getting high at the club, going home with old queens and pretending everything was completely normal. The intense worry and guilt that swelled up inside Mickey at that thought was something he tried hard to drown, bury six feet under and forget, but that wasn’t easy. It never was with Ian Gallagher. He took another gulp of the bottle of whiskey and pretended the liquid was running through the cracks that Ian had managed to invade and that it was killing whatever part of Ian was left in him.

Being in their room with memories of them in every little corner and under every piece of dust had been overwhelming to say the least, and for the first time since Ian and the hospital, Mickey had allowed himself to cry. It was strange, really, how the constant hole in his chest had gotten more painful at first, but then gradually better as his eyelids started to burn from rubbing them dry. That night he had gotten a decent amount of sleep for the first time in a while and it was almost liberating. Maybe he could actually do this – keep going. Whatever the hell that meant.

\---

“Mick?” Mandy called softly from the other side of the door while knocking.

Mickey was sitting in his bed and leaning against the headboard. He looked at the door from where he had been staring at the wall across his bed. Dimly, he realized that it was already after noon and he could barely remember how he had passed the time since this morning. This time though, without the help of alcohol. It was the first time since before the hospital that he actually was and felt sober, and he had a hangover headache to show for it.

“Jesus Christ just come in,” Mickey said, irritated by the cautiousness of someone actually knocking on his door before entering. That had always been a Gallagher thing more than a Milkovich thing, and while he had been grateful for it in the beginning, it became more annoying than anything else. Mandy came walking in, a beer in her hand and he gestured for her to put it on his night table. She raised her eyebrows while Mickey lit a cigarette.

“What, it’s 4pm and you don’t want a beer? Are you that coked out?” Mandy tried to cover her concern with playfulness and it might have worked on someone else but not on Mickey. She was standing next to his bed now and his eyes still worked well enough to see through her.

“Nah,” he replied simply and reached his arm out to hand her the cigarette.

She seemed surprised at the gesture but took a drag without a word and Mickey fought with himself for a moment before he scooted farther away from her on the bed and patted the space next to him. He didn’t look at her but he hoped that she still understood that he didn’t really want her to leave right now.

Thankfully, she did get what he meant, and she sat next to him, leaning her back against the headboard and handing the cigarette back to Mickey.

Ever since he first thought that maybe telling Mandy what had happened wouldn’t be such a bad idea, the thought had popped into his head regularly. The more he thought it the less he discarded the notion and he was at a point where he thought that maybe he should actually do it. Mandy knew both Ian and Mickey and would understand – maybe she even understood what Mickey didn’t, because it still wasn’t very easy to work around the gaping black hole where his heart had been. But Mickey also thought that if it ever came down to it Mandy would have his back, being her brother and all. They were still Milkoviches after all and that shit would never really go away, no matter how hard any of them tried. The thought of having someone on his side made the decision easier.

When he broke out of his thoughts, Mandy was looking at him patiently, handing back the cigarette and her eyes gave him the final push to his resolve.

“Alright, ask,” he told her while turning his head away from her.

“What the fuck happened since the last time you talked to me up until when Iggy called me because you were in the goddamn hospital and Ian and you obviously broke up.”

Hearing it out loud coming from Mandy’s mouth felt like a punch in the gut and Mickey clenched his eyes and took a drag of the cigarette.

“You’re not beating around the bush, are you?” It was one of the things that he had always liked about Mandy. It made things easier.

“I watched you drink through your liver in the last ten days so no, I’m not.”

He breathed a laugh and surprised himself with it. “Fair enough.”

There was a short silence stretching between them where Mickey tried to sort through his jumbled memories. Just because he decided that maybe he should tell Mandy about everything didn’t make the process of it any easier. He remembered the last time he texted Mandy after Ian had run off with Yev and her call, telling him that they would turn up again and things would turn out fine. He remembered the short texts they had exchanged when Mickey had told her that Ian was in the psych ward and Mandy saying that she was glad he was getting help. Mickey had shared the sentiment back then, but now it felt like that had been the beginning off the end. Maybe.

“The last thing you know is him going to the hospital right?”

“Yeah, but why don’t you start at the beginning?”

“That is the beginning.”

“The beginning of you two hooking up?”

Mickey was silent, contemplating. Starting that far back would probably give Mandy a better understanding but Mickey was unwilling. He would have to revisit wounds that he never wanted to open ever again so fuck his sister’s curiosity, he wasn’t telling her everything. Besides, so much of what had happened was still his and Ian’s secret that felt too intimate to talk about. Mickey had been tied to Ian as both their secret and that was not something he wanted to think about right now or ever again, so he inhaled another drag of smoke and exhaled it through his nose.

“You wanna know what fucking happened since you left or what?” he asked, his eyebrow raising and daring her to contradict him.

“Tell me however much you want to, Mick,” she said with a sincere look on her face. “I know we both used to make fun of sitting down and talking about shit but believe me, I had to learn the hard way that it actually helps.”

“The hell are you talking about?”

“I …” She looked nervous and embarrassed all of a sudden and worry filled his chest. “I found a group of women or rather – they found me I guess. Helped me get away from Kenyatta.”

“You did?” Mickey was hit with the fact that he completely forgot about that piece of shit and he wanted to slap himself.

“Yeah,” she smiled. “Wasn’t easy. But … we had those cliché meetings, sitting in a circle.” She laughed nervously. “It was so fucking weird in the beginning. Everybody telling their fucking stories as if we were all best friends but … it helped eventually.”

“He’s really out of the picture?” Mickey asked.  He saw the picture of Mandy’s bloody face after Kenyatta had hit her on his mind, and the guilt gnawing at him.

“Yes, he is.”

“Good Mandy, that’s … really good. I’m glad,” Mickey said and he truly was.

“Me too,” Mandy said and smiled and scooted a little closer to Mickey.

They sat there in silence for a little, and then Mickey handed Mandy the cigarette so she could have the last drag. She stomped it out in the overflowing ashtray on his nightstand and moved back.

“So?” she prompted him, and Mickey decided to take the bait.

“Went to visit him the day after he admitted himself. He was on mandatory hold for 72 hours. I … he was so out of it, Mands. Pumped full with sedatives and shit, and he was looking through me instead of at me. Kept asking about the baby, for some fucking reason. Seeing him like this … I just fucking bolted,” he added the last sentence quietly, looking down at his hands and the words kept pushing out now that he’d started.

“Came home drunk to an empty house-“

“Why empty? Where was everybody? Where  _is_  everybody?”

“Svetlana wanted to kick Ian out after he ran off with the baby but I didn’t let her so she left. And who the fuck knows where Iggy is most of the time?”

She nodded and he took it as a cue to continue.

“Didn’t visit him the next day, or even fucking picked him up when he got released. Dunno why. I was pretty drunk.” He laughed coldly. “Debbie had to come over and yell at me before I finally went over and saw him. I thought maybe he didn’t … whatever.” His eyebrows scrunched together.

“Not my proudest moment,” he mumbled and Mandy felt the urge to comfort him somehow but she refrained, not sure if he’d allow it.

“Apparently he’d flushed his meds, but … he seemed fine when I saw him. He still didn’t believe he was sick though. The next morning, he woke up yelling about MPs coming to get him or some shit. Nearly smashed Debbie’s head in with a baseball bat. It was over as quick as it started but he finally agreed to going to the clinic and get new meds. Guess the shock finally made him realize.”

He reached for another cigarette, lit it and handed it over to Mandy after taking one drag.

“So we went there and the nurse starts talking shit about a suicide list and how he’s gonna have to take the pills for the rest of his life. He was – you should have seen his face, Mandy.” He rubbed his forehead and his breath hitched in his throat. He remembered how convinced he had been that he’d be there the next 30 to 40 years and tears filled his eyes. He brushed them away.

“He took his meds, got a job at the same diner that Fiona worked at, and I thought things were getting back on track. We even went back to the dugouts like we used to. I thought we were fine, right? So imagine my fucking surprise when he punches me in the face and calls me a faggot and for what? Caring too much apparently.”

He glanced at Mandy next to him and saw her looking at him with a mixture of what Mickey took as shock, sympathy and worry. He couldn’t look at her for long otherwise the tears would come too quickly to brush them away.

“Whatever, I didn’t really care because he seemed okay again and we kissed and fucked and … it was good, it was normal.”

He adjusted his seat in the bed and he brushed his hand over his face. “But as fucking always it only stayed like that until we get back to the Gallaghers where MPs are waiting for Ian. Arrested him and drove him away.”

“Ian got arrested? What the fuck?”

“Couldn’t make this shit up. Sammi ratted him out so they finally knew where he was.”

“Shit.”

“Best thing is the next day, they interrogate his family while he’s in the room. He has to sit there and listen to them talk about how he’s been diagnosed with bipolar, and that he’s been acting crazy the last year and shit. No wonder he took off again.”

Mandy’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, took off with Monica. Didn’t answer my calls for a few days until he called me back and told me he was home.”

Mickey clenched his eyes shut, the knowledge that their story was coming to an end soon making him want to both stop and continue. The biggest parts were already behind him and although the worst was the only thing left , he could make it to the end. He opened his eyes and stared at his hands.

“When I get there he’s asking me if I’m gonna stay with him even if he doesn’t take the meds. So -“ He took a deep breath again, trying to calm the erratic beating of his heart. “So I tell him. I tell him things that I never told him before and I tell him things I never thought I’d promise anybody ever.”

The images of that day barely two weeks ago flashed before his eyes, and he was far past the pretense of downplaying everything. The tears pooling in his eyes fell on his cheeks and he didn’t bother wiping them away this time. In the back of his head, he was glad that it was only Mandy seeing him like this. She was the only person he could probably trust with this.

“And what the fuck does he do?” His voice was trembling harder than he ever remembered it trembling before. It almost breaks but he manages. “Tells me I can’t fix him because he’s not broken. Throws everything I told him in my fucking face and breaks up with me. After … everything.”

A single sob escaped him but he fought the rest of them waiting in his chest. If he was going to break down he wasn’t going to do it in front of Mandy.

“Mick?” she whispered and he turned his head, facing her. She slowly lifted a hand and placed it on the side of his head. He found that it was a comforting gesture even though he’d never been a big fan of touching people that weren’t Ian.

“I’m sorry,” Mandy whispered and Mickey clenched his eyes shut, turning his face ahead again. Mandy took the hint and dropped her hand but Mickey missed it as soon as it was gone so he took her hand in his instead. The warmth of her body next to his was comforting.

They sat like this for a while, Mickey working to calm down his breathing and fighting the pain that shot through his heart irregularly like a knife. Having Mandy here was … good. He didn’t know if she was right and talking had helped but he didn’t really feel much worse and that was all Mickey felt he could ask for. Eventually, his breathing evened out and the only sounds in the room were their breathing and the drops of rain splashing against the window. He didn’t remember when it had started raining. He took another breath.

“So in conclusion, you missed fuck all because everything went to shit while you were gone.”

“What about the happy times though?”

Mickey snorted and disconnected his hand from Mandy’s, only being able to take the physical comfort for so long.

“Fuck the happy times.” They all felt dirty now, like a lie. The happiness he had experienced had been tainted and he regretted ever allowing them in the first place. Looking back at the happier memories through the veil of knowledge of what was going to happen left the metallic taste of blood on Mickey’s tongue.

“But you had them. I mean I didn’t know he was talking about you back then ,but Ian told me about them.”

“Ian can go fuck himself,” Mickey said, with more exhaustion than malice in his voice. “Showed me what all those freaks mean when they talk about love and shit only to fucking rip my chest apart shortly after. What a fucking shit show.”

“That’s always what it feels like,” she said with a smile on her lips and leaned her head back.

“Always? You done this shit more than once?”

Mandy shot him a glance and smirked.

“You’re fucking nuts, Mandy.”

“Maybe,” she said and a short giggle escaped her. After a minute she spoke again.

“You know what else always happens?”

“What?”

She turned her head towards him and looked him in the eyes.

“It gets better, Mick. It always does.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Mickey closed his eyes and at least for a minute he believed her.

**Author's Note:**

> [caputdraconis.tumblr.com](caputdraconis.tumblr.com)


End file.
